


Hemispheres pt 1

by fre



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dissociation, Established Relationship, Fluff, Heavy dialogue, M/M, financial despair?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 11:18:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12506164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fre/pseuds/fre
Summary: Genji's destructive habits resurface





	Hemispheres pt 1

**Author's Note:**

> This sort of ended up as a continuation of Isolation, in which Genji reveals more of himself to Zenyatta.  
> I also just wanted to write more about Genji's home in Nepal

Keeping his business private from Zenyatta was proving to be a more difficult task as their relationship changed. Lying to him about traveling and money was no longer an option, and even skirting the truth eroded at his conscious. He was certain Zenyatta would not ask further questions, but after his recent string of absences, he could not leave without saying something.  
  
They had agreed to meet up at that afternoon, where Genji had resolved to tell Zenyatta about his most recent employment. Though he seemed to be in a good mood, Zenyatta saw through his anxious facade, knowing otherwise.  
  
As Zenyatta turned towards the garden, Genji grabbed his hand. “Perhaps we could meditate somewhere else today.”  
  
He yielded, letting Genji lead him down the mountain path, towards the shrines and villages below. He moved expeditiously, as though more interested in the destination than the conversation at hand. Zenyatta would not relent to that.  
  
“I know it's so late already, but I appreciate the time you make for me. You have shown me so much about myself and yet I still cannot help but feel like I am keeping secrets.”  
  
Zenyatta stopped, pulling his partner to a halt. “I am always happy to make time for you, Genji, but we can relax our pace.” It was clear he was embarrassed for having lost focus, but Genji moved along with Zenyatta, guiding without complete control. “You seem tense, Genji. Something in your timeliness suggests another motive for seeing me today.”  
  
Guilt was creeping in, making room for easy lies.  
  
“I want you to know that I'm leaving again for a little while. It's just for temporary work,” he said. “I don't really know when I'll be back.”  
  
They had come to a small tunnel beneath a bridge; a crescent of shadow swallowed him before waning with the returning light.  
  
“ _Will_ you come back?”  
  
“Yes. Of course. I don't want to leave you.” Too much had come out, all in careless slide of the tongue. Embarrassment flared hot on his face, as though he were staring too long into the sun. “I'm not ready to leave Nepal. I didn't want you to dwell on my absence, as though I was gone.”  
  
“I trust you, Genji, and I trust that you will keep yourself safe,” he said. “And I'm pleased that you told me.”  
  
He reassured Zenyatta, apologizing needlessly, too inspired by such praise to notice. They were passing through lower ranges, cutting along the path past the local shrine, where autumn set ashore red petals like spindrift foaming from the sea.  
  
“Still you seem nervous. Is there something you cannot bring yourself to say?”  
  
They had come to the second arch along the main road, past rows of brick and stone houses. At the very center, a simple shrine stood, surrounded by small shops or dilapidated homes. Such a small village and yet so burdened by a lack of resources, shunned perhaps by more affluent neighborhoods. Along the thoroughfares passing over the main avenue, Genji led him, never once pausing to navigate, more driven as though out of duress.  
  
“There's no reason to rush, Genji. Wherever you are taking-”  
  
He caught eyes with the man at the end of the vacant alley.  
  
“I wanted to see you before I leave,” Genji admitted, slowing his pace finally. “It's fine. They won't disturb us now that I'm home.” He shyly glanced at Zenyatta's countenance, wondering if fear or disappointment presided in Zenyatta's mind. Even as he unlocked his door, it felt as though the world had tilted, casting him down into the valley below.  
  
“I meant to tell you earlier. Some plans were left unclear to me and I did not know when I would be forced to leave,” he explained, inviting Zenyatta in. “This is my house by the way.” Zenyatta looked around while Genji hesitated, “There's a first floor but it's condemned.”  
  
It was only a single room, a narrow loft with modest accommodations, lit by a small lantern in the corner. On a wooden stand leafed with gold, the Dragonblade rested, the only impressive feature of the drab apartment. Genji positioned the mattress, offering it to Zenyatta who refused but not without regarding the warmth of the gesture.  
  
“It's more important that you know all the money I've received from Blackwatch is gone now. I'm relying on mercenary work.”  
  
In a loose coil, the orbs lulled idly while Zenyatta processed this. “I see. You've been at this for a while now, I'm certain.”  
  
“Well, maybe only since I first came into the country.” It was the very reason he had come to Nepal- a duty to pay back the leader of the omnic gang, the ESP.  
  
Zenyatta nodded.“Tell me then, if in the two years that have passed, when did you think you would stop?”  
  
It hadn't meant to be accusing, but Genji raised his guard. “The moment it started. I have done nothing of my own volition since Overwatch rebuilt this-”  
  
He preferred not to finish the thought. It was getting late now and he feared he was wearing down Zenyatta's patience.  
  
“You have often mentioned your experience with Overwatch, but that part of your life is over now. Do you not wish to move past this?”  
  
“It's not that simple. I still need money to survive.” He sounded stressed, as though already fatigued by the journey ahead. The flight from Kathmandu to Indonesia left tomorrow and nine obstacles lay before him. “I'm to meet my escort at the city gate at dawn.”  
  
“Please reconsider.”  
  
“I cannot take back my word now, Zenyatta,” Genji sighed. “I was hoping you would wish me well.”  
  
“Why are you doing this to yourself? People are following you home. You are delivering yourself into deceitful hands,” Zenyatta reasoned.  
  
“I have no other options. I have rent to pay and medication and other debt... I am left with nothing.” Recognizing Zenyatta's unfamiliarity with these concepts did not frustrate him, rather it made him desperate to elaborate. “They won't hurt me.” _Not unless_... he would have added, but held back.  
  
“These burdens are not easy to manage, but you do not have to carry them alone. There is always a place for you in the monastery; my siblings will embrace you as they always have. We will provide for you.”  
  
Genji replaced his mask, sensing the heaviness of tears coming on. What would he have to give up to join their order, if they permitted him as Zenyatta said? The last of his possessions huddled in the loft: the tapestry his father had given him and the kimono- final threads of an torn memory. Deeper within himself, he had sacrificed parts of his body to both the clan and Overwatch, a reconstructed image of himself so alien to his true identity.  
  
And the Dragonblade- as much of a piece of himself as any of this machinery.  
  
“Zenyatta, that is a gracious gift that I cannot accept. How can I consign myself to any association when I have only been mislead?” He caught the volume in his voice and turned around to shut the door over the curtain. “I cannot risk losing myself again.”  
  
“Your concerns are not without merit. Wounds you have received in the past should remain as such- in the past. Do not let them overshadow the growth of new trust,” Zenyatta said, clasping his hands over Genji's left palm. “There is no commitment.”  
  
“No, Master, there is more at risk,” he explained, thinking of what methods his former employers might use to track him down. Even with Blackwatch dismembered, there were enough outside breaches to expose his whereabouts to less than reputable sources. “It would be better if my presence remain undisclosed.”  
  
Zenyatta laid his hand on Genji's arm, releasing the tension in his student's fists. He could see the conflict dueling within him, where destructive habits and thoughts perpetuated an ever shifting struggle.  
  
“Remember, Genji- what is at hand is only temporary. It is possible to move past our choices and regrets to cope with them in a way that is healthy. With time we may both find ourselves on an unforeseen path.”  
  
“What are you saying?” Genji asked. “You would leave the Shambali?”  
  
“Nothing is permanent, my student.”  
  
“And where would you go?”  
  
“Wherever you are willing to go.”  
  
“I am at home here,” he said, adding as the notion occurred to him, “You would go any where with me?”  
  
Zenyatta nodded. An hour ago Genji was fidgeting anxiously, now he was steady and focused, composed on the futon before him. The little apartment suited Genji and his simple needs, clean despite the stain on the rug, and dimly lit with both curtains drawn closed.  
  
“I want to stay with you, too,” Genji added. “I'm happy in Nepal.”  
  
“I am glad to hear that. You have a lovely apartment here.”  
  
Genji thanked him graciously, suddenly not sure whether to be ashamed of his many luxuries or rather the lack thereof.  
  
“Is the neighborhood safe?”  
  
“Yes,” Genji reassured, “ _I'm_ the menace on this block.”  
  
“So I see. Now tell me about this condemned first floor.”  
  
“Oh, I don't keep much of anything down there. It's mostly empty.” It was a suitable place to go when he didn't want to associate with _Genji Shimada_ , or any part of that past, no longer surrounded by the haunting reminder of many shameless spectacles. He hadn't felt that way in a while, he realized, not the same self hatred; dust and webbing had taken his place in the floor below, and only darkness once the utilities were shut off.  
  
There were moments at the end of abysmal memories where he would find himself there, in the barely recognizable room, with no recollection of having moved. He could usually return to bed without much struggle.  
  
Genji hadn't realized how long he had dwelt upon the matter until he caught the awkward silence, while Zenyatta's gaze waited patiently for him to catch up.  
  
He apologized, “I've been really stressed out lately. This is all very difficult to deal with on my own. I feel like I am neglecting something.”  
  
“Indeed you are.” Zenyatta turned, placing the framed photo between them. Fine dust layered over the glass, a thin curtain over the brothers' impassive expressions. The stark contrast between Genji in the photo and his own physical form disturbed him. This person was more of an anomaly now; unsure or incapable of connecting with his artificial self.  
  
“Internalizing disappointment and anguish is unhealthy and breeds confusion. You must take your own initiative to change, not because it has been forced upon you,” Zenyatta said, examining the wire ligaments, metal fingers softly kneading the muscles. “You do not owe anything to me or the monastery. You may come and go as freely as you like. I simply did not think _this_ was how you would spend your time away. Regardless, I want what is best for you.”  
  
His eyes shyly averted away, falling upon the picture, seated as a guest beside them. Often when he glanced at this photo, he only ever considered Hanzo. His brother's nonchalant posture, the way his glare held the lens' focus. Or perhaps it was the uncomfortable sensation that followed acknowledging the other subject in the foreground.  
  
It was odd inheriting this man's mistakes despite having no connection with him. His every memory lucid, and yet inexplicably obscure and disjointed, more painful than pleasant to access. It was as though he could not find balance between the progress he had made and the endless pitfalls Genji Shimada had created. Enlightenment was difficult to decipher without Zenyatta explaining it to him plainly (though more times cryptically) .  
  
“I will remember that while I am away,” he said, thinking of the nights he would spend alone. It would be no different than the lonely nights at home, but the distance would be palpable. He might not see Zenyatta for weeks. “I don't think it will be safe to call you...”  
  
“I understand. Stay focused, Genji, and keep yourself safe. It does not matter if you return a changed man, only that you are returned unharmed,” Zenyatta said reassuringly. “If you need anything, please do not hesitate to contact me.”  
  
He promised, searching Zenyatta's face for approval.  
  
They spent the night together, relaxing on the futon, their conversations drifting down into feather-light murmurs. They had opened the curtain to the view of the valley below, unveiling the deep saturation of evening indigo. Genji lay curled around Zenyatta, their half-circle formation huddled tightly in a wool blanket. Zenyatta agreed to wake him before dawn, his reaffirming hands massaging Genji's back.  
  
Wind streamed down from the vast hood of the mountain, carving along the cleft heels of snow capped stone. The view from the loft was captivating, enough to distract him from the desperation and danger that lurked on the other side, and almost enough to draw his gaze away from Genji, now peacefully asleep.  
  
Zenyatta's hands moved methodically, uninterested in pausing. He had forgotten what it meant to wonder where Genji went when he left the temple- how such feelings manifested from fear. When Zenyatta had first agreed to mentor Genji, he imagined his student lived closer to the wall west of the temple, where communities were heavily mixed between omnic and human. As time had passed, and with the shift in their relationship, it almost felt as though he was never gone.  
  
Now, knowing how much Genji had kept hidden from him, it was as if he was disappearing. It was clear that they both existed on different latitudes, and for a while their hemispheres had aligned somehow, overlapped in transitory orbit.

 

“Genji,” Zenyatta whispered, rubbing circles into his temples, “the sun is rising.”  
  
He roused, somewhat startled by a second presence in his home, and then got up to wash his face before stretching. Zenyatta folded his blankets and replaced the futon against the wall. The frame had already been positioned in its original place, he noticed, facing away from them.  
  
Genji packed the last of his items into a small bag and equipped the Dragonblade and wakazashi. It had been a while since Zenyatta had seen him wear both and it reawakened a memory of their first few meetings. Something about the curvature of each sword made his handsome appearance more striking.  
  
“You should bring something warmer,” he suggested, but Genji continued barring the latch to the ground floor. “And you should eat breakfast.”  
  
“I don't really have time,” he answered, double checking the locked door on their way out.  
  
As he turned, Zenyatta blocked his pathway, their chests almost touching. The way he carried himself was almost regal, Genji observed, even seated in the lotus position.  
“Please take care of yourself. I know you are not always this careless, Genji,” Zenyatta said firmly.  
  
It would not be a far walk to the edge of the city and then to the foot of the Himalayas, where his ride would be waiting. Zenyatta noticed the drag in his pace and wondered further about the magnifying tension between them. He reached for Genji's hand, each finger facing less resistance. Silence was always comfortable between them, even agreeable, but Zenyatta wanted a clear response.  
  
“So what exactly is the purpose of this mission?” he asked, once it seemed like Genji was willing to converse.  
  
The road was becoming steeper, more diverted with sere grass hills and unseasoned trees crinkled with the bitter chill of late autumn.  
  
“I cannot tell you much,” Genji said. “I owe someone for helping me hunt down members of the Shimada clan and other business withheld me from paying her back. I was given a list of nine targets to track. I don't know who any of these people are though, nor what they have done to deserve this punishment.”  
  
Zenyatta nodded, taking the gravity of his words gently. “I see. That is a difficult task and doubtless you are anxious of what lies ahead on your path. Trust yourself, as I trust you, and what ever decisions you make will be rewarding.”  
  
“That means a lot to me,” he said, voice dry from sleep. “Though I know you are disappointed.”  
  
“I want to see you happy again and making better choices.”  
  
Peaks of sunlight spiraled down on them, over the path where eastern mountain roads met, and the precipice of the city. Here the gateway and sentinel towers held vigil over rolls of mist; grooved stones in the foundation marked clear signatures of Shambali monks.  
  
A dark car waited by the roadside. At this angle they could not see any inhabitants within, only sparse wafts of cigarette smoke coming from the sun roof. They backed out of view for a moment, cautious of being watched.  
  
Zenyatta embraced him, holding firmly against Genji's shoulders. Though he paused momentarily, Genji leaned in, wrapping his own arms in place.  
“Return safe, Genji,” Zenyatta whispered, cherishing the name. “I love you.”  
  
Genji tucked himself closer, his voice hushed, asking only a simple favor and Zenyatta's hands followed suit, settling behind his partner's jaw to disengage the mask from the rest of his helmet. Genji kissed him longingly, faintly soothing the ache sprouting inside him.  
  
Pulling away was painful, as much as watching strangers approach Genji and invite him into their nefarious company.  
  
For a moment, Zenyatta remained in silence, watching the cooled glaze of dawn pool over milky gray clouds. _He knows what he is doing,_ Zenyatta thought, heading back along the same road. Trailing along beneath him, he could find Genji's footprints, softly sculpted in the soil and in the dust path higher in the mountains.  
  
He traced their path through the city, pressing a hand against the door to Genji's house. The first floor was vacant, but the walls were the same, all doors a portal to the same destination. The mountains amplified the emptiness gathering within.  
  
After that, Zenyatta moved on.


End file.
